"Hey, baby girl," Morgan cooed as Sam cried half-heartedly, standing at the bars of her crib and holding them for support. At almost ten months, she had been pulling herself to a standing position for about a week, using anything within reach as a means to support her attempts at moving around. Every time she did it, Morgan felt immensely proud. He lifted her out of her crib and she balanced on his arm, clutching at his shoulder for support, Morgan's other hand braced against her back, and she mostly stopped crying, giving a few token whimpers of complaint in anticipation of her morning bottle of milk.
"No sleeping in even on Christmas?" he asked her, and she just pulled a sulky face and made a sound of protest. "Oh I am sorry, is Daddy not getting you a bottle fast enough?"
He carried her out of her room just as Reid had reached the top of the stairs, bottle in hand. Sam noticed it and made an excited sound, reaching out a pudgy hand, fingers outstretched for her bottle. Reid grinned, leading the way back into their bedroom.
Sam sat happily on top of the bedsheets between Morgan's knees, leaning back against him, but she had fussed until he let her hold her bottle herself, two little hands holding it at an angle and pace she liked, eyes wandering around with interest.
"I put a pot of coffee on," Reid said, stretching out and then curling up again under the covers.
"Aren't you excited?" Morgan prompted, watching Reid settle down again.
"I am, but she doesn't really understand what Christmas is. Next year, I'm sure she'll be as excited as you are." Above the sheets, Morgan could see Reid grinning.
Morgan smiled too; he couldn't help smiling, because he loved Christmas, and he'd been preparing all month for their daughter's first Christmas. Rationally he knew she couldn't really appreciate it yet, but that hadn't stopped him decorating lavishly, putting up lights and tinsel and baubles, and talking incessantly to her about Santa all month. He'd indulged Reid's love of Halloween months earlier, and he knew Reid was doing the same now, which he appreciated.
"You think I've gone overboard?" he asked, as he fiddled idly with Sam's kinky red hair, gently untangling some of the coils that had wound together in the night.
"You're talking to the one who bought her two Halloween costumes. I think at this point we're allowed to be self-indulgent."
"Good to know," Morgan chuckled, still fixing the baby's hair. "We need to do a full hair routine tomorrow, it's getting dry again."
Reid reached out to touch Sam's hair, testing it. Her eyes followed his hand as he stroked her cheek, and she smiled around her bottle. He propped himself on his elbow and grinned at her, tickling her onesie-covered foot, making her squirm and giggle.
"It's not too bad, right?" he asked, meeting Morgan's eyes as the man bent down to kiss the top of Sam's head. "That moisturiser is a lot better, I think we're getting the routine right now."
"Yeah," he agreed, as Sam finished her bottle with a satisfied sigh and dropped it. "You all done, Samie?"
"Baaaaa," Sam said, as if to the affirmative.
The logistics of Christmas had been some months in the making; Morgan's mother Fran, of course, had wanted them to take Sam to Chicago to have her first family Christmas, but after some convincing she'd agreed they'd come up for a week in February instead. It wasn't that they didn't love the usual big family Christmases, quite the contrary, they'd been to the last eight, but both of them wanted it to be just them and their daughter for her first Christmas.
They headed downstairs once Sam had been changed and all three of them were in suitably Christmassy attire: Reid and Morgan respectively donning sweaters featuring reindeer and black Santa, and Sam in a onesie covered in a shiny bauble design. There were three stockings by the fire and even though they knew she didn't understand yet, they were still enthusiastic, caught up in the excitement of their daughter's first Christmas.
"Look, Samie! Look at your stocking," Reid said, bringing her over and letting her grab experimentally to her stocking, which crinkled from being stuffed with goodies. "Shall we see what he got you?"
They sat Sam on the sofa between them, Clooney looking on with interest from nearby, and she babbled happily, holding a conversation of baby talk with each of them. With their prompting, she thoroughly enjoyed ripping wrapping paper from the stocking stuffers, the actual teething ring, rattle and such toys ignored for the time being. Reid unwrapped a pair of socks as Morgan tried to tempt her to play with her new rattle toy instead of gasping as she ripped the paper apart, but it was a half-hearted attempt because she was having so much fun.
"Thank you, Santa," Reid said, holding the socks aloft and winking at Morgan.
After the stockings, Reid took Sam into the kitchen to fix breakfast while Morgan took Clooney for a quick walk. It was cold and windy, but the various displays of string lights Morgan had decorated the interior of the house with gave everything a comforting, festive glow. Reid put on Christmas music in the background and Sam danced in her highchair as she ate honey toast and berries, encouraged by her father's awkward shuffling and shaking, movement that barely passed for dancing, but seemed to keep her entertained.
"Frosty the snowman, was a jolly, happy soul," Reid sang along with the Jackson 5, his exaggerated actions making Sam laugh. He didn't even stop when he heard Morgan coming in again, still singing as he slid their breakfast of French toast onto two plates.
"There must have been some magic in that old silk hat they found," Morgan joined in, grinning as he dropped his keys on the table and bent to encourage Sam to keep eating, "when they put it on his head, he began to dance around." Their daughter giggled as she munched her toast, berry juice all around her mouth, on her hands and covering the Santa-dotted bib under her chin. Morgan slid onto a stool at the kitchen island, tucking into his breakfast while still humming along, as Reid settled down opposite and used his tablet computer to open the final day of his Carl Sagan wisdom advent calendar.
"The historical figure Santa is based on would have been Turkish, definitely not white," Spencer said, making Morgan raise an eyebrow.
"Hm?"
Reid tilted his tablet, showing the desktop screen which had prompted him; it was a photo of Morgan in a Santa suit with a smiling but oblivious Sam on his lap. Morgan smiled, dropping his head as he cut up his breakfast.
"Thought I should get a head start on the goofy dad stuff. Anyway, I ride for black Santa." He tugged at the chest of his sweater to illustrate the point as he lifted his fork, gesturing with it. "I'm gonna tell her Santa does that thing Doctor Who does, anyway."
"He's not called Doctor Who," Reid said patiently, not for the first time.
"That thing he does," Morgan reiterated, feeding himself and not acknowledging Reid's correction.
"Regeneration. His name is just 'the Doctor'."
"Yeah, regeneration. So black Santa, white Santa, brown Santa, east Asian Santa are all equally possible."
"We can just tell her Santa's black, you know," Reid said, smiling with amusement. "I don't mind, I won't feel excluded."
"Yeah, but if she ever catches you putting stuff in the stockings and she thinks Santa has to be black, she might work out it's us too soon."
"So you're planning for us to dress up as Santa to fill stockings on Christmas Eve just in case she comes downstairs at precisely that moment and sees one of us?"
Morgan smiled a goofy smile around his fork, eyes sparkling. Reid chuckled, leaning over to Sam to encourage her to eat the last of her toast as the sound of crooning Christmas melodies carried through the house.
"We have to make the magic last," Morgan pointed out. "Once a kid figures out Santa's not real, all the magic is gone."
Reid, looking across the table at his husband and practically radiating with the love he felt for him, reached across the wooden surface and stroked his hand.
"It will be magic," he promised.